Shadows Cast by Stars

think.

The rest of the day is devoted to cleaning. Tomorrow, I’ll go to Ms. Adelaide’s and talk to Helen. I’ll understand if she doesn’t want to live here anymore, but I’ll ask her just the same. And then, once I’ve done that, I’ll figure out how to persuade the Band to send out a search for my brother and Bran. I’ll lead it, if I have to.

I scrub the little kitchen with its polished enamel sink and tiled floor. Dust motes float in the air as I sweep the floors. Night approaches, so I build a small fire in the cookstove. Madda’s garden is full of squash and corn, and I’ll feed my father some of both.

My arms ache, but it’s a good ache, the ache of hard work. My face is smudged with dirt and so are my hands, but oddly enough, I’m also happy-so happy that when my father arrives, he looks shocked for a moment, as if he doesn’t recognize me. We eat in silence, each of us offering careful smiles, because I think we’re both afraid to break the mood.

Later, after my father has left, I open every door and window in the house to invite the night inside. Evening air permeates the cottage. I pull a chair close to the fire, pretending that I’m not tired yet, but I am. I just can’t bring myself to go into Madda’s bedroom. It’s too soon. I’m not ready.

But the chair by the fire is comfy and warm. Good enough for now.

More than good enough for now.

• • •

I startle awake. Moonlight paves the floor and the fire has died.

Something isn’t right.

I scramble to a window and peer out at the forest.

I can’t make out a thing, but I am certain, beyond doubt, that someone, something, is watching me. Every hair on my body stands at attention.

Nothing moves. There is no sound. Even the crickets have ceased their singing.

I steal through the house as quietly as I can, shutting the windows, barring them in place, locking the doors. Tomorrow, I will dig through Madda’s notes and set up every warding I can find.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

First thing in the morning, I start making plans: Get the Elders together. Talk to them. Figure out how to find Bran and Paul. And make them take me along. It all seems manageable. I’m medicine woman here now-I must have some say!-until I think of Saul. My first duty as medicine woman ended in tragedy, and the Elders will have heard of that by now.

Doesn’t matter, I tell myself, but suddenly I’m overwhelmed with a desire to do anything but walk into town and face the Elders. It feels like Madda’s here, working in the garden or grinding herbs at the table. I can’t see her, but when I close my eyes, I can sense her. Help me, Madda. Give me the strength to face those men. Help me convince them that we need to do something, that Paul and Bran are still alive, and they need our help.

But that’s not what she wants.

What she wants is for me to go into her room.

I fight it, but no matter what I do, I keep finding myself standing at her bedroom door, hand on the doorknob. Three times I turn away, but on the fourth, I grit my teeth and make myself open the door.

Time has stopped in here. The bedcovers are rumpled. A robe lies on the floor. Underwear dangles from the arm of a wicker-backed chair. The wardrobe stands open, its arms wide, ready to receive me. The windowsill is jammed with books. I run my hand over the spines, leaving tracks in the dust as time begins to beat again. A cardigan has fallen behind them and I pick it up. It smells of earth and roses-just like Madda. This is how I will remember her.

I shake the cardigan, loosing a layer of dust, and a letter flies from one of the pockets, skittering across the floor. The envelope is made of thick, homemade paper, speckled with rose petals and lavender. My name is scratched across it in Madda’s spidery hand.

I pick it up and crack the beeswax seal.

Cassandra,

If you’re reading this, then I haven’t had a chance to burn it, which means I’m not around. I’m really sorry that I’ve left you with such a burden, but even if you don’t believe it, you’re ready. Now you just have to trust that, which is the real test.

There’s a loose board in the floor of the pantry. My herbal is in there, along with a couple of bottles of opium and some whiskey. Don’t leave the herbal out in the open. There’s a lot of stuff in it that’s not for ordinary eyes- stuff that’s a bit dangerous, especially if used by someone with less than honorable intentions. The knowledge in there is generations old and once it’s lost, that’s it.

And, for god’s sake, if you decide to go rambling around in the spirit world, protect yourself. There’s a whole section in the herbal on wardings and bindings- learn them, memorize them, LIVE them. You’re strong, but you’re still pretty green, and it wouldn’t take much for a creature of spirit to use you as it wants.

This is going to be a trying time for you. Everyone’s going to test you, especially the Elders. Speak your mind. Trust that you know right from wrong and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

I know I don’t need to warn you about Grace, but I’m going to anyhow. She’s going to be hell-bent on separating you from Bran. Keep him close. Marry him if you have to, though that’s not any guarantee, but ties that bind are useful, you know?

And be wary of Avalon. Darkness always resents the light. Besides, you know what they say about keeping your enemies close. That’s what I would do, if I were you. I thought she would be my apprentice once, after my failings with the last one, before you came. But you know, as she never could, that all this stuff-healing, the spirit world, these paths we walk- it’s not about us. See past yourself to the things that need doing, and do them when no one else will. Don’t choose the easy route. Choose the one that’s true. You’ll know which that is, because when you close your eyes and feel your choices, the right one always feels open, even though you know it’s going to be hard. And don’t forget-you’re a survivor, Cassandra. Look at what you’ve been through. You keep on going, keep on fighting, even after your mother and your home and your teacher were ripped away from you. And I have a feeling there’s more to come. That’s what sisiutl can give you-the power to endure when you think you can’t. But you can. I know you can. That’s why Dzoonokwa was keeping her eyes on you too. Everyone wants you on their side.

If I had time, I could fill a book with all the things you need to know, but I guess some of them you’ll just have to figure out for yourself. The last thing, and maybe the most important: If you think you’re being watched from the woods, you are; and if you’re reading this, you probably know what, or who, those eyes belong to. Talk to Adelaide. She can tell you about them. She’s the only woman I know of who has faced the dzoonokwa and survived. Go and check the wardings on the burial ground-if they’re still missing, get them back up as soon as you can. I should have done that myself, but there just wasn’t time. It’s probably not a bad idea to set up a few on the forest side of the cottage either. Whatever you do, show them you’re strong. They’ll probably respect that. After all, you’ve got the sisiutl on your side. Not everyone can make that claim.

I wish I could have been a better teacher to you. There just hasn’t been enough time. There’s never enough time for anything.

Madda

The letter is dated the morning after the gathering. So this is what she saw when the madness took her-that she had no time left. Madda knew. She knew. I read the letter again, and again, and then, when the words are etched in my mind, I feed it to the fire. An immolation seems the proper way to send Madda off.

When all that’s left is ash, I wrap Madda’s sweater around me and head out.

Time to pay Ms. Adelaide a visit.

Ms. Adelaide peers at me from over the top of her cracked cup. “Madda said what?”

I hold an equally cracked cup between my palms, inhaling the smoky greenness of real tea. How long has it